


filling in your lines

by carnivorousBelvedere



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Artist Karkat, Dave learns he's bi, Exhibitionism, First Time Blow Jobs, First Time Bottoming, Happy Ending, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Nude Art Model Dave, Porn Watching, Resolved Sexual Tension, Self-Discovery, Sexual Repression, Sexuality Crisis, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-09 09:41:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17404547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carnivorousBelvedere/pseuds/carnivorousBelvedere
Summary: Trying to make some extra money, Dave signs up to be a nude art model for a university art class.Eventually, he's privately hired for a project by artist Karkat Vantas, but the artist has a bit of a strange request for him.This absolutely does not lead to any new discoveries about Dave's sexuality, and they totally keep it professional the entire time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notwest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notwest/gifts).



> a gift fic for my dear friend <3

Your name is Dave Strider, and you are a stereotypical music major. 

That means you’re broke. Like seriously broke. 

This is what you get for doing school at a city university.

You consider the jobs you could pick up in your spare time as you exit the hall on the way to the big campus walkway, taking a glance at the giant pinboard near the door where people post info on upcoming talks and club ongoings, sometimes ads for jobs. 

It’s like angels from heaven cry out as you notice one distinctly when you pass by, although you never really pay attention to these boards in the first place.

“Seeking nude art models for ART 167, 192. Hourly pay.”

You actually stop and swivel around, backtracking to pause in front of it and consider the offer. 

Stand around for a bunch of people to draw you naked for an hour? Your fellow students?

There are worse things you could do in this world for money….

Right?

-

You go to the art department and end up meeting the point of contact, one of the adjunct professors of the art program, who introduces himself as Jameson, and whether or not that’s his first or last name you decide not to ask further. He seems to find your physicality agreeable, because he straight off the bat asks if you have experience. 

That’s a definite ‘No’.

“Well, I can understand that if you’re nervous, we could do some in home sessions to help you get acclimated. Not alone, of course.” He holds a hand out as if to say ‘Not trying to be a creeper.’

Well, you figured he wasn’t. As literal school faculty and all that he seems pretty reliable. But still, at nineteen you’re actually still kind of worried about getting a boner in front of a class full of people, so this actually sounds like a pretty damn good idea. 

He gives you the terms, breaking down the hourly pay for you, and making sure the class hours don’t conflict with your current class schedule.

Finally he lays the big numbers down on you: 

You’ll get 30$ for every hour you spend with your schlong out in front of a class of eager learners, and 20$ for any clothed session you may do at any point. 

You can’t shake on it fast enough. 

-

Your first in-home session with Jameson is next Wednesday, with a group of six students. You don’t pay them much mind, it’s a mixed bag of people and you aren’t there to make friends. But you watch them work as they look up from their stands to draw you. 

You can feel their eyes on you, but there’s no depth to it. They aren’t really looking at you, they’re just… absorbing you long enough to put you on the paper. Behind their eyes you can’t make out any substance, it’s just vacant but focused glances at your being. 

A breeze blows through the room. 

The inevitable happens, and you get hard. You can feel yourself flushing and turning red, probably so obvious under the extra lighting on you, but no one says anything, and everyone continues on with their work as if nothing happened. 

Jameson tells you you did a good job after, and that’s that. 

 

The sessions continue on just like this, and you eventually start working the on campus classes while continuing the home sessions. 

Sometimes you get hard, sometimes you don’t. You get surprisingly comfortable with your body. You sometimes do poses probably more suited for actual models, not some broke college kid. But people continue to draw you on a weekly basis so maybe there’s something to you.

One day, someone visits during a home session and requires Jameson to leave the room housing the students and your naked body. He returns with a man in tow that you don’t recognize, but they seem congenial and you assume they must know each other through the art world. They talk and whisper in a corner, and it appears the conversation is about the class and work. The man steps forward and looks at the student works over their shoulders, nodding as he looks between their drawings… and you.

He steps up closer, into the light between the stands, and you can finally make out his features. He’s darker skinned, with longer than average brown hair, and he’s broad. There isn’t anything about him that seems delicate, he’s certainly huskier than Jameson, and a bit taller too. 

You only note all this because it’s the most interesting thing that’s happened during this two-hour session. 

He comes up a step closer, and you realize that his gaze has not left your form. He is downright studying you. 

Much like the studious glances the students give you, his eyebrows are furrowed and he appears as if he’s concentrating, but there’s an element of interest, as if he’s trying to get a read on you. 

That’s new. 

At some point he meets your eyes, and something passes over his face before he turns around to go back to talk to Jameson. Jameson cocks his head to the side as the stranger tells him something, but then Jameson nods thoughtfully as he glances up at you. 

And then he looks at the stranger again and nods a bit more vigorously, as if in agreement. 

The stranger floats to the back of the room, away from the enhanced lighting, and all you can see is his distant thickset outline along the wall. He stays there until the end, presumably watching the students work, until Jameson announces the conclusion of class and the students begin to pack up. You’re off the clock now, so you hurry to go and get dressed. 

Jameson quickly collects you before you can slip out. 

“Dave, there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to.” 

You follow Jameson over to the newcomer at the back, who he claps a hand on the shoulder of. “Dave, this is my good friend Karkat Vantas. I understand that you aren’t an art major, but he’s quite well known in the art sphere. He has an offer for you.” 

“Sup, I’m Dave,” you say, very unprofessionally, and stick out your hand to shake. 

This guy, Karkat Vantas, which is honestly the most artsy-fartsy sounding name you’ve ever heard in your life, peels himself away from the wall to meet your hand. “Karkat Vantas, nice to meet you.” 

His voice is low and rich and coarse, and is nothing like yet exactly what you had been expecting. 

Jameson gestures between the two of you as he talks. “Karkat would like to hire you for a few private in home sessions. I’ve actually considered letting you extend this offer to some of the other students before, I just wasn’t sure what your comfort level would be.” He clears his throat. “In any case, the pay would be double for each hour, as they are private sessions. Karkat has my utmost respect, you will absolutely be in good hands, Dave.” 

You reshoulder your bag and try not to act like all you see is dollar signs. Yeah, it seems like you’re deviating from your nice and official school job, but you could always use a bit more cash. “No way. Yeah, I’m totally down to do that. Private sessions and all.” It’s a good gig. “So uh… yeah, whatever you need, Mr. Vantas. Just gotta take a look at my handy-dandy google calendar and we can set something up.”

Vantas smiles at you, and you realize again how tall he is. Or is it the broadness that seems to make him so strangely intimidating? “Please, Karkat is fine.” 

“Sure, Karkat.” You’ve gotten pretty comfortable with this job, because it only then dawns on you that this guy laid his eyes on you only once and instantly wanted to hire you. You can’t even begin to fathom what exactly it was this well-known artist saw in you. Maybe you’re just a pro at standing around naked, who knows.

“I’ll leave you two to discuss,” Jameson excuses himself.

The two of you exchange numbers and Karkat schedules you for a slot next week

“What all are you working on?” You ask as you save his contact information, trying to get a feel for what to expect. 

“Well, I’ve got a couple of ongoing projects, including a couple of anatomical commissions. One for an academy installation and some others as textbook pieces. Some of these will take _time_. Are you alright with committing to regular meetings until they’re finished? I really can’t have you backing out on me once we start.”

You shrug. “As long it doesn’t conflict with these classes, you’ve got my number.” You flash a finger gun at him, which causes him to smirk slightly. His face falls back into seriousness. 

“I should warn you, some of the draws might be a bit… unconventional.” 

“Unconventional?” The word immediately sets you at unease. 

“Oh. Hm. How should I explain… Well. Male anatomical position apparently requires an erect penis, and any academic pieces will require it.” 

Wait, what? 

He exhales, slightly amused at your uncomprehending expression. “It’s really of no concern for now, and I can find someone else if you aren’t comfortable with it.” 

Is he saying… If you heard that right, it sounds like he was saying you would need to be hard for when he draws you. Huh. That’s definitely uncharted territory, but nothing you’re unwilling to try. You’ve already had your fair share of unwanted erections in front of a live audience, how different could a wanted one be? 

“Oh, shit, no man it’s totally fine. Like I said, whatever you need.” 

He seems pleased at that. “Excellent. We can definitely discuss more pertinent details on the day of.”

Before he leaves, he embraces Jameson once more and waves to you, almost a salute. 

It’s going to be an interesting week. 

-

“So. Talk to me, Dave.”

Karkat pulls another stool up to the one you’re sitting on, already under the lights of his home studio. 

The guy has a nice place, he’s obviously made it or whatever the equivalent is in the art world. His windows have thick, red curtains. There are large mirrors everywhere and gold accented furniture. The rugs are thick and patterned over marble flooring. It all gives the feeling of being spacious and light while still very sophisticated. You decide you wouldn’t mind a couple of repeat visits to this place. 

He himself is wearing a bit more of a relaxed look than the dressy number you saw him in last time. He’s wearing a flowing silky dark red button down, still flattering despite the looseness, half tucked into cuffed khaki slacks over a pair of dark brown loafers. He’s definitely got style, much more than you in your black joggers and white long sleeve cotton shirt. 

“What’s your preference?”

Your attention snaps back to the moment. “Sorry, what?”

“Your preference. Do you like men, women, both, neither…” 

You startle slightly, realizing what he’s asking you. “Oh, haha. I mean, yeah I’m straight, if that’s what you’re asking.” You laugh nervously and press your palms down the length of your quads along your pants. “Uh, why?” 

“So I know what porn to play,” Karkat answers, as if it was obvious. 

“Oh.” 

“...Are you actually comfortable with talking about this?” 

“Yeah, totally,” you say, mostly eager to get over whatever this part of the discussion is. 

He shrugs and continues. “Do you have a preference for a type of woman?” 

“Idon’tknowI’mnotreallypicky,” you say quickly. You wouldn’t really know, honestly. You’ve dated some but never had a serious girlfriend, mostly because you never found the ‘right’ one. 

He eyes you again, but doesn’t comment. “Alright then. How long do you think you can maintain an erection for?”

“Up to an hour, probably,” you respond vaguely. 

He nods, considering his next words. Instead of more questions, he starts to walk you through the poses you’ll be doing. He wants to begin with the full frontal anatomical draws, so you’re looking at a whole hour, maybe more, of standing with a hardon, hands out by your sides and your palms facing in front of you. 

Karkat excuses himself to go and set up the TV behind him, and you go to get naked. 

He starts the porn from the very beginning and from what you can determine, it’s one of those long ones with actual plot and stuff. You’re not gonna get hard anytime soon. 

“You realize this is the part you’re supposed to skip, right?” 

He’s already walking back to his stand in front of you. “Eager, are we?” He teases with a half smile. “I need to make some preliminary sketches, we’ve got time.” 

You half expect him to come and put you physically in the position he wants you in for whatever official business he’s working on, but instead he verbally directs you, and from there you know the drill-- don’t move.

“Don’t mind me, just enjoy the movie,” he grumbles from behind the stand and you hear him start to mark up the pad before him. 

So you settle in and watch, actually managing to mostly ignore him and relax and the movie plays on over his shoulder. It’s on loud enough to hear the dialogue. This is some full-blown exposition going on. 

At this point, it’s maybe been half an hour. “Uh, hey Mr. Vantas, er, Karkat. Are they gonna bang anytime soon or…?” 

He looks up from his work. “They’re building tension to make it meaningful! What, do you have no sense of romance?” He looks back at his work but keeps going. It seems that art-mode Karkat lacks his usual filter. He waves his free hand around as he works. “Although I’m not gonna lie, these two actors just have no chemistry. It’s terrible. Heterosexual porn is so predictable.” 

Your jaw drops. Is this guy for fucking real? Is he actually telling you his opinions on porn quality? 

You are partially unsurprised, the guy’s a literal artist, or at least screams stereotypical artist-type. He could probably wax poetic about all kinds of bullshit. You probably wouldn’t mind, the dude’s got a nice voice. 

“The men in this one have much better chemistry,” he mutters. Your eyebrows shoot up but you don’t say anything, mostly because you wonder if you misheard him. But he actually quiets down to focus on his work, and when the fucking part begins you watch over your shoulder and tell yourself that sixty-plus dollars are on the line, so your one focus should be to get hard. The porn helps, it looks like it’s some contrived scene requiring a blowjob. It’s kind of nice to be able to just let it happen on purpose for once instead of trying to suppressing it. If Rose found out about this, she would probably dig into you for having a secret exhibitionist kink. 

Maybe you do have one… 

Your dick swells as you watch and instead of focusing on the porn you actually glance over to see if Karkat has noticed. If he has, he doesn’t say anything, he just continues on with his glances between you and the stand. 

“I usually play music when I do this. The background noise in this case is… a bit different,” he muses. You’re not sure if it’s a complaint or if he’s just talking. Either way you don’t move your mouth, unsure of what he’s working on. “I don’t think I entirely considered the implications of working to the sounds of sex.”

The way he says the word, in his low gravelly voice, should not be so inexplicably arousing. Maybe it’s not, maybe it’s this whole strange situation. 

He glances up at you when you don’t respond. “You can talk, you know. It’s not so vital that you have to keep your trap shut for several hours.”

You exhale. “Sorry, I didn’t know.” Either way, you aren’t necessarily interested in a conversation while you’re busy trying to keep it up. 

“Nothing to apologize for, you’re just doing your job.” 

He doesn’t engage you after that and the porn ends eventually. You stop getting hard, so Karkat has you move into another position for another piece. He sets you on the stool, and from there on out it’s just like any of your other sessions.

He turns on some classical music. You think it might be from an opera. It’s not your area of expertise but it’s still familiar. You also have to try not to laugh at the fact that he’s listening to opera music, although it’s entirely unsurprising considering his general tastes. Your suspicions are confirmed eventually when you hear singing, from what sounds like a male countertenor. 

“Handel?” You offer, recognizing the style.

He stops to raise an eyebrow at you. “Yes. Do you know which work?”

Oof, shot in the dark. “It’s not Rinaldo, but it’s still a countertenor piece… wait, Julius Cesar?”

He nods. “Actually, it's _Giulio Cesare_ , but well done. Shit, I’m actually impressed. You don’t seem the type.”

“Old Jamey didn’t tell you I’m a music major?” 

He snorts but gets back to his drawing. “I’ll admit I didn’t hire you based off your field of study.” Is that a compliment? “Tell me, what music do you study? Or do you play?” 

Now you’re just going to embarrass yourself. “Uh… I mean I have to know keyboard but not much else. My goal is actually to work on applying music theory to electronic music.”

“I can’t even begin to understand how that’s possible or worthwhile.” 

_Pretentious asshole._ “Okay, hear me out. Most DJs get basic ed in music theory, just enough to get them through. And then most people that learn music theory get too caught up in it to actually get creative. But if I can get past that, I’ll be on my way to unlocking what it is that makes EDM addictive.” It’s strange, telling someone your true aspirations while also being naked. It’s double the vulnerability. 

Karkat looks up to regard you and points at you with his pencil. “I don’t know dick about what you’re doing, but that, what you just said? That’s passion. Don’t you fucking dare ever lose that passion, Dave.” He turns back down. “You’ll have to show me sometime. Now put your hand back on your knee… there.” 

You realize you had slipped while explaining your major to him, unused to talking while posing and quickly fix it. 

You don’t talk to him much more after that until he decides it’s been long enough, so you get dressed and he waits to walk you to the door. 

“Thank you,” he says as you’re at the doorway. “You did a good job.” 

You just nod awkwardly, unsure of how to respond. All you did was stand around with your dick out, that really doesn’t require much talent. “I’ll uh… see you in a few days right?”

“Sounds good. See you then. Have a nice night, Dave.” 

You leave his house and make a point to treat yourself to something that isn’t Taco Bell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is based off a response to this question on the r/bisexual subreddit, [Your "welp, I'm definitely not straight" moment?](https://www.reddit.com/r/bisexual/comments/a66t7z/your_welp_im_definitely_not_straight_moment/ebslh8d/)


	2. Chapter 2

As scheduled, you go back to his place later this week. You get back into the position, and he starts to draw you. The porn playing in the background starts off a lot the same as before, but now it appears to be two guys and a woman. 

They have a threesome. Yeah, it’s hot. You pretty easily get it up. 

And then

The girl leaves

And

Holy shit, the guys are going at it now. 

This is just 

Gay porn now 

And 

_What_

You expect your dick to deflate, and the opposite happens. You watch the one guy’s dick disappear into the other man’s ass, you suck in a deep breath, and feel yourself get harder as you watch the guy getting fucked lose his mind. 

You can feel that you’re turning red, you’re starting to sweat. Holy shit, it’s so hot. 

_Why is this so hot_? 

You can’t take your eyes off of it, your body reacts out of your control. You’re sure if you were to touch yourself right now you’d explode. 

It reminds you of something you chose to forget, the shameful anal explorations way back when you first started masturbating, but always just wrote off as childish curiosities that you soon stopped. The force of remembering and wanting to remember what it felt like hits you like a tidal wave. 

You can’t help it, you watch and can’t take your eyes off the screen. Your breathing turns shallow, you open and close your hands shut even though you aren’t supposed to let them move. 

Distantly, Karkat is speaking to you.

You watch the man fuck into the other with sensual thrusts, one hand wrapped around the other’s head. You are losing your mind.

“Dave?!” Karkat almost yells, and your attention snaps back to him.

You must… what do you even look like to him right now? Probably a mess. 

“Are you okay? Sorry I totally forgot about this one, do you want me to change it?” 

You swallow thickly and will your eyes to not fall back onto the screen, to the source of those _sounds_. 

“Dave?” He asks again, hesitantly. You can hear a drop of concern in his voice. 

“Uh,” you lick your lips dryly. “It’s fine. You can keep going.” Your voice comes out hoarsely. He furrows his brows at you curiously, and then shakes his head as he turns back to his work. 

“You don’t have to lie, if this is bothering you, you should say something. Clearly something is wrong, but no matter. It’s not my place to call you out, but your compulsory heterosexuality is showing.” 

“My what?” You wheeze as your eyes drift back to the screen. 

Holy shit, you are so hard. How can Karkat not see it, that you’re having a fucking crisis up here? You’re frozen. Once you start watching again you just can’t stop. 

“Compulsory heterosexuality. These two going at it have way more tension. I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but I was paying a bit of attention to that lead up. The way they looked at each other as they fucked that woman. Like they were just trying to prove something to the other. That’s goddamn chemistry right there. Anyways, my point here is that you seem to be bothered by something--”

“‘M not bothered,” you mumble. 

“What was that?” Karkat says, not looking at you.

“It doesn’t bother me,” you say louder, still unable to stop staring at them go at it like that. _Fuck_. 

In the periphery of your vision you can make out Karkat swiveling to look back up at you. 

Like _really_ look at you. Like you remember him doing the first time. 

Maybe he sees what’s happening to you now: your rock hard dick, the way you can’t gain control of your breathing, the uncontrollable wave of arousal battering you like you can’t ever remember happening before. 

He doesn’t say anything, and you’re too busy watching that man get fucked to notice if his eyes bug out with revelation or if he looks at you curiously, not understanding what’s happening to you. Of all people, an artist should recognize this, this whatever-it-is that’s happening to you. 

 

At some point the porn ends, and you’ve become so painfully pent up you can barely stand it. Your face is red, there is definitely a sheen of sweat on your forehead. 

Before it segues into the next portion where he’ll draw you not-hard, you pause him. “Hey uh, can I take a break? I just… need a moment. For uh, the bathroom, sorry.” 

Karkat is watching you with concern. “Uh, yes. Bathroom’s down that hall, second door on the left. Are you feeling alright, Dave?” 

You immediately head in that direction. Can’t he see that you’re still hard? Of course you’re not okay, you’re not okay at all. 

You throw your body in the direction of the bathroom and toss the door shut behind you, faintly realizing you never answered his question. The bathroom is half a giant mirror, everywhere you look you see yourself. It echoes. 

You stare at your dick. 

_What the fuck is happening to me?_

 

With a shaking hand you take ahold of yourself, and think about that actor getting fucked. 

 

-

 

You name is Karkat Vantas, and right now you are concerned. 

Your art model seems to be sick with something or other, and you probably should just send him home. He really seemed to be struggling through the latter half of that session, although maybe… No. That’s not a professional thought. In any case, you had offered to turn it off or change it, if the cause of his discomfort had been the nature of the pornography.

You should check on him. 

You get up from your stool and make your way down the hall, only to find that the door to the bathroom isn’t shut all the way. 

You pause mid-stride in confusion, just long enough to register a sound. 

The sound is… unmistakable. 

Your art model, Dave, unless you are completely misguided, sounds like he is vigorously masturbating in your bathroom. 

Why would he…Wait. 

Oh. 

_Oh_. 

That’s why… Oh. You had been right. 

Holy shit. 

You are listening to the sounds of your hired nude art model have a sexuality crisis in your bathroom. 

The right thing to do at this moment would be to turn around and walk away, let Dave have his moment in peace. 

But, oh, those _sounds_. 

You’re frozen in place as you listen to him and those broken sighs released as he touches himself. 

You don’t… You realize with dawning terror that you don’t even need to see him to imagine him. Your mind populates the image of him for you. You know this body, soon you’ll know it so well it might as well be etched into your frontal lobe. 

You can see him as clearly as if he were in front of you. You can see those tensing abs, delicate fingers wrapped around his erection, the slightest pump to his bicep as he strokes himself. 

The thought is so unbearably delicious and entirely forbidden. Like plucking the first fruits of spring, it is a temptation that you should let lie, let it grow on its own. 

_Turn around_. 

You stay frozen to your spot, smothering your breathing so that you can better hear him make those anguished sounds. 

It stirs something inside you, like an unintelligible invocation. No, you’re supposed to be keeping this professional. Stop watching-- _listening_ to him, stop being such a goddamn pervert, the kid is barely legal. 

Sick to your stomach, you don’t move. 

You can feel the impact of those noises acting on you, moving your body. You haven’t… The raw noise, the complete bareness and vulnerability of it, it’s all communing with something past judgement, deeper than shame. It’s welling up inside, a vibrating, abstract force… For so long, you thought your work had lacked it, that pure sexuality your younger self may have possessed. You had hoped you might find it again doing this project.

Now, it is so intense. Enough to bring a man to his knees. 

It’s like music, the way he gasps and recoils, until you’re sure you aren’t even breathing so that you can hear it all as he brings himself to peaking climax. 

Your pants are far too tight. You fist your hands at your sides, overwhelmed with desire to act. 

All at once it’s over with a strained moan. You can hear him panting. You wonder what he looks like now. Are his hands splattered with his come, did some land on his stomach? What is he feeling? 

You imagine potent flush in his cheeks, how the heat might feel radiating from his skin. 

Does he wonder what it would be like, to be fucked by a man? Does he want to fuck a man? 

The thought is enough to make you lightheaded, swaying on your feet. 

It is only when you hear him in movement that you yank yourself back in the direction of the studio and sit back down, telling yourself that it will not leak into your work, and that you will not draw Dave with ecstasy in his eyes as he falls apart before you.


	3. Chapter 3

Your name is Dave Strider, and _what the fuck just happened_. You have never gotten yourself off as hard as that in your life. 

With shaking hands you grab a wad of tissues off the counter and wipe yourself off, flushing them down the toilet. You look in the mirror and assess your still-naked body. 

_I’m not gay,_ you think to yourself. It’s a thin lie and you don’t want to think about it right now. It’s not like it would be bad it’s just… You’re straight, right? 

The marble floor should feel cold but you feel warmer than ever, blood still pumping hot in your veins after that undeniably amazing orgasm. You splash some water on your face and when you’ve determined you don’t look like you’re about to toss your guts up you leave the bathroom and head back to the studio. 

Karkat is hunched over his stand and turns to look at you as you enter. 

The way he looks at you then pauses you. Those roving eyes just make you feel so seen. You wonder for a second if he knows, and although he doesn’t show it you’re pretty sure he’s put something together. 

“Are you--” his voice is hoarse, he clears it before speaking again. “You don’t seem well, Dave. I think you should go home.” 

You shake your head. If he did figure something out you’re thankful he’s being chill about it. “No dude, it’s fine. I’m good. We can keep going.” 

Karkat gazes back at you, and you swear the frown on his face deepens. “Very well then.” He straightens his posture and gestures for you to go back to the center of the room, to the stool. You go back and sit, settling back to the familiar position from before. 

It is silent as he starts again. 

Your mind wanders, and you realize he hadn’t even put on any music this time. The room is filled only with the sounds of him working away. 

You don’t mind watching him to entertain yourself. You never minded watching him, or the way that he watched you. The guy is an artist and he absolutely has some sort of accompanying aura that fills the room. You’d expect that of a person like him. 

But now… it’s his glances up that feel different. Instead of just quick flashes up it’s almost like he’s tracing you with his eyes. 

You like how it feels. 

What the… you feel another flash of arousal, not expecting it since you just finished jacking off. You should feel tired, but instead the thrill of his dark eyes lining your figure excites you. 

_Hah, gay,_ half of your brain laughs at you. 

Or maybe you actually are an exhibitionist. That thought comforts you, that you aren’t wrong about yourself being straight, but that you just have a kink. 

Then again, you weren’t getting off in the bathroom thinking about Karkat watching you. 

Though something in the pit of your stomach tells you if you were to think about it later when you went home, you actually might. 

It’s all too much. You should have taken the offer to go home early, damn your sixty dollars. 

It’s not even been half an hour, during all of which you continuously panicked and shoved it down, when Karkat stops and sits back, looking at his work. You watch again as his expressive brows come down in bewilderment. 

“I… I apologize, Dave. I think we should end early today.” He pulls another piece of paper over his work to cover it. 

“Just not feelin’ it?” You manage. 

He exhales and half smiles, almost pensive, or even wistful. “You could say that.” 

 

You get dressed, and maybe you’re just in a weird state but it almost seems like he’s hurrying you out the door. 

“So uh, same time next week?” You ask.

“Yes, yes, that should be fine. See you next week.” He hesitates at the entryway, watching you. It seems like he’s going to say something else. “... Have a nice evening, Dave,” he says, just like before, and disappears back into his home after he shuts the door behind you. 

You leave. 

You go through your nightly activities, suppressing your thoughts all the while. Finally, you shower, get in bed, try to turn off your brain to sleep and completely fail. 

Because all you can think about is that porn you watched and the man getting fucked, and your stomach drops when you wonder what it would feel like for Karkat to fuck you. You wonder if his face would be set in that same concentrated expression as he pushes himself inside you, thrusts himself deep. 

Oh, _fuck_. 

You’re hard again, and now that you’ve started you can’t stop. You wonder if he’s as thick down there as his body is. You wonder if he’s had these thoughts about you. 

You’ve garnered well enough from his rants that he’s probably not completely straight… probably. 

Do you really want him, or did he just happen to be caught in the crossfire while you watched porn? 

It’s not… no. You think he’s hot. 

You think he’s really hot. He’s just so much bigger than you, not necessarily stronger, just bulkier and… the intrusive fantasy fills your mind, of the man folding you in two, pushing your legs back, and fucking into you senselessly. 

Your hand is on your dick so fast. When you come, it’s just as overwhelming as it had been earlier. 

With your chest heaving, you lay back on your bed, and wonder how the fuck you’re going to keep it together for the rest of these sessions.

 

-

Karkat does not make it easy for you. 

 

“You’re late,” he says curtly when you arrive. 

“Uh, sorry,” you say weakly, not having an excuse other than that you didn’t realize the two of you were on a such tight schedule that you needed to show up at seven so promptly. He shuts the door and briskly walks you to the studio. There’s no conversation this time, he just seems dead set on beginning. 

He starts the video, and you realize very quickly that something is off about it, because there are no women. 

He gets to work, as if nothing has changed. 

You realize very quickly there are no women in this movie and it doesn’t look like there will be and you are very, _very_ okay with it. 

He did notice. There’s no other explanation. 

“Everything okay, Dave?” He asks, a little bit later when you’re standing there red-faced and sweating again. His voice is still… tight. It lacks the warmth from your other sessions with him. He’s not messing with you, is he? 

“Yeah….” you say, bearing the brunt of his eyes as they settle on you for once long second, really looking at you again in the way he has before, not just for the art. He’s immediately back to the process after. 

“Can I ask you something?” You say suddenly. 

“Shoot,” he says gruffly. 

“Are you… Are you gay?” 

Karkat snorts, continuing to detail something on the page and not looking at you. “In a manner of speaking. You can like both, you know.” 

“I…. Oh.” That explains the stash of gay porn? Bisexuality, you know what this. 

Huh. 

You’re still not eager to put any names to this, but you stash it away for later, choosing to focus on the task at hand instead. 

It’s not difficult for you to stay hard at all, and you find your eyes dropping down with wonder to gaze at Karkat, letting your brain plot you and him into those same positions you see on the screen. You force your face to not give the thoughts away. Not like it matters anymore, he’s practically calling you out. But you won’t say say anything about it. He must be doing this on purpose, but his demeanor with you screams otherwise. 

So he’s gay, or bi, or some shade of that. It doesn’t really change anything, although… Karkat is just using you for work, right? Is the way Karkat looks at you tinged with something else, something that lingers, or are you purely a reference piece and nothing more? 

You manage to keep it together for the second hour. He doesn’t really talk to you much more, if at all, for the period. 

You stay pent up until you go home. Only then do you let yourself furiously get off, your daydreams about Karkat intermixing with, and maybe propelling, your orgasm. 

 

The sessions continue with the gay porn. Karkat never comments on it, and your diamond-hard boners speak for themself. 

And yet, as the sessions continue, you find yourself looking at the movies less and less and at Karkat more and more. 

He must notice at this point, he has to. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

You ask him questions, topics to get him talking. He obliges you, even over the absurd sounds of fucking in the background sometimes. He talks to you in that low, gravely voice, and you let yourself tuck it away for use later. Despite his perpetuating terseness, he doesn’t seem to have a problem talking to you while he works. 

The questions you ask stray far, far away from sex. 

You ask him about the art world, about his travels, about his inspirations, how he got started. 

By comparison, your life starkly lacks the colorfulness of his, all artist pun intended. But he gets you talking too, although that was never a hard thing for anyone to do. You like him more and more, and not just for the sound of his voice. He’s inherently pretentious but makes up for it in odd ways. 

Yet he keeps you arm’s length. Every interaction outside of the time in the studio he keeps himself a healthy distance away for you. It’s not necessarily a wanted distance. It’s oddly frustrating, this tenuous line between you that he keeps. 

His _eyes_ though. They never change.

That, or you can’t get enough of him looking at you. 

Every time he sees you off for the night from that dim entryway, you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something else there for you in his eyes. 

You run yourself in circles, wondering if this established man could ever think anything more of you.


	4. Chapter 4

So far, you’ve been keeping it to one hour of boner draws, and a following one of other pieces that don’t have such a requirement. And yeah, sometimes you do get hard during the second hour. 

He _has_ to have noticed by now. 

Especially because it’s been happening more and more now. 

You were always going to break, eventually. 

 

You’ve just finished up the first hour, where you were busy with your glances from the screen to Karkat, and now you’re sitting on the stool, no release in sight anytime soon. 

Today, the thoughts are particularly bad. As you watch him from the stool, posed as he wants you, it is difficult to not perceive his every glance as transmitting electricity. Without the porn to otherwise distract you, there is nothing to keep you from focusing on him. 

You watch, hang on to every look he gives you as he glances up from the work, and attempt not to revel in how good it feels. 

All it takes is one more wandering thought as to what his dick looks like and you’re hard again. When he looks at you again, you know that he notices. His eyes flutter up to your face but his expression remains set in concentration. It’s always like that. 

As you sit on the stool, you wonder what the weight of him would feel like on your body, or if he would ever want to watch you while you did things, bad things, to yourself. You consider if he would fuck you as roughly as you’ve seen some people get fucked in those movies. 

You endure one more minute of these thoughts, underlaid with the vibrant orchestra crying out in the background, before you come to the conclusion: 

_I can’t do this anymore._

 

You easily move one hand from the directed position, wrap it around your hardened cock, and wait for him to look up once more. 

You savor his reaction when he does. He freezes and you watch his mouth drop into a small ‘o’ of surprise. His eyes are focused on your hand wrapped around your dick before they trail up to your face. 

Keeping unwavering eye contact with him, you give one determined stroke and a gasp shudders out. 

Karkat tenses and shuts his mouth. “Dave…” he says, his voice thick with _something_. “What are you doing?” 

“Do you know how crazy you’d been driving me?” You respond, and stroke again. 

He sucks in a sudden, shocked breath, still watching you. He speaks after a long moment. You think your heart might give out, either from your nerves or how turned on you are. “I don’t… Dave. I don’t--” His hands ball into fists. You realize what you’re hearing is _restraint_. 

“Do you want me to stop?” You watch him and stroke at a steady pace. 

“Dave… I wasn’t supposed to—“

“Do you want me to stop?” You repeat. 

“You… I don’t understand--” His face gives himself away. He’s staring up at you with a familiar expression, his mouth slightly agape and eyes wide as if they can’t get enough of you all at once. 

“Do you not want this? At all? Because from where I’m sitting it looks like you want it pretty badly.” You struggle, fight with yourself to keep eye contact with him. 

“I…” Finally, he stumbles forward towards you, away from the stand. “Dave… If you keep doing this, _I won’t be able to stop myself_.”

You watch him approach until he’s three feet from you. “Stop. Stay where you are.” You see a definite swelling in his pants. 

He reaches out to you but stays where he is. “Dave.” His voice is a broken groan. 

“Watch me, Karkat. I want you to watch me.” You can feel it already, how turned you are at the prospect of him watching you come. 

He stays in the spot for you, but his face is pained. “ _Please_ ,” he begs, but you don’t know for what. 

“ _Watch me_ ,” you demand and continue to pump yourself, your other hand bracing your body up on the stool. 

He stands there watching you but his eyes are completely panicked. He appears as if he would go into a frenzy if not for your words holding him back. 

You curl back once in pleasure before forcing yourself to slow for a second and open your eyes, gazing at him drunkenly. “I want to see you.” 

“ _What?_ ” 

“Touch yourself. I want to see you.” 

He pauses, his hands grasping at air beside him. 

“Please, let me see you,” you beg desperately. 

His breathing is erratic as he flies into motion, unzipping his pants. His eyes never stray from your body. 

You hungrily take in the sight of his cock as he pulls it out, which is as thick as you had ever hoped. 

“Touch yourself,” you say. 

He looks pained, still, even as he follows your request and wraps a hand around himself. As you up your pace again he starts to stroke slowly, watching you in something like wonder. He takes another step forward. 

“Dave, let me, let me touch you, please.” 

“I want you to watch me.” 

He constrains a frustrated gasp, but hurries his pace to match yours. His eyes never leave your body. 

You stare at him as you keep pumping yourself. Having him here in person is so much better than the fantasies you leave for your bed at home. His eyes on you make your body feel like it’s on fire. 

“Karkat,” you gasp, savoring him practically writhe in desire as he watches you. 

You’re going to come soon, and you think he can tell, because he works away faster. 

You finally reach your peak under his gaze and extend your back up, holding steady as you come.

“Oh, fuck, _Karkat_.” 

He’s on you suddenly. His hand is in your hair, tipping your head back roughly. You feel splatters on your chest. 

You look down to watch Karkat come all over you. 

You both stroke yourselves through to completion, staring at each other as you catch your breath. He soon drops his hand from your head, stepping back. 

Horror has overtaken his face. 

“I-- I-- Dave. I’m so sorry, that was uncalled for of me.” 

You stare back at him uncomprehendingly. He just stumbles away from you, muttering apologies. He pulls himself back into his pants and runs a hand down his shirt as he collects himself. 

“Let me, oh god. Let me clean you up.” He disappears for a second but immediately returns with towels. 

He approaches you once more and avoids your eyes as wipes your chest off. You find yourself wanting to be even closer to him.

“Fuck, that was so hot,” you say, but swear he flinches. 

“This was a bad idea,” he says softly. 

You frown. “I don’t get it. Did you not want that?” 

He exhales sharply, grimacing. “No, it’s not that.” He finishes cleaning you as best he can and withdraws. “You should… see yourself out. I’ll pay you for the whole second hour, don’t worry.” 

He leaves you in the studio, and you feel strangely empty. As you dress, your body becomes numb. 

You find him in his kitchen, nursing a drink at the table. He doesn’t look up at you. “Go home, Dave.” He says roughly. 

You make a swift retreat, surprised to find your chest hurting. 

Later in bed, it all strikes you as unfair. How dare he purposefully put you through a goddamn crisis and then leave you like that? Had he not been intending to do that? What the hell was he playing at? 

You settle for asking him these questions when you next see him.


	5. Chapter 5

He hadn’t been expecting you. 

When he opens the door, he’s standing in a silky red robe, bare chest peaking out of the front. 

It would have been funny, if for any other reason. 

“Dave, what are you doing here?” He says gruffly from the doorway, not letting you in just yet. You notice one fist open and close at his side. 

“Uh… hey…. it’s Thursday. I dunno, I thought we were supposed to meet.” His antagonistic tone makes you tense. You had already been anxious showing up, and now it’s peaking. 

He curses softly. “I apologize, it seems I’ve completely lost control of my life.” It’s sarcasm dipped in opposition. He frowns down at you. 

It makes you wilt. “Do you want me to go home?”

Karkat sighs heavily, “Honestly, you weren’t supposed to come. I hadn’t texted you.” 

“We’d been meeting pretty regularly, I guess I just assumed?” 

“I know, I know, I just…” He seems to debate something internally. You hope he won’t turn you away, not after last week. 

Standing in front of him again, it’s hard not to recall it in vividness. 

But the way he holds himself so stiffly now, you find it hard to believe it all had been anything other than a heat of the moment action. 

You just stand there watching each other for a long moment, and in an instant it’s all pouring out.

“Listen, I’m sorry about what happened last week. It was messed up of me to do and yeah, you’ve made it pretty clear already you aren’t interested. Fuck me for just assuming you would want me after, I don’t know, weeks of looking at me naked? I’m just, I’m not gonna lie, showing me all the porn and then not expecting me to do something about it was kind of a dick move. Like I’ve been living a 24/7 crisis because of you since I started coming here and you seemed pretty happy to be making that happen. I guess yeah if you’re gonna draw someone naked make sure it’s someone you definitely won’t be into, right?” You finish your rant with a snap, and breathe in sharply to keep going. 

He groans loudly and rubs a hand down his face, cutting you off. “Are you fucking done? Goddammit. Why don’t you just come in already. I’ll just show you, alright?” 

You stare up at him open mouthed and then nod once. “Yeah, okay.” 

He opens the door to let you in, still keeping a distance. He closes the door behind you. “Follow me,” he says. 

You follow him through the house, past the studio, to a room behind the kitchen. He flips on the light. It seems like an office of sorts, but in disarray. There’s tons of paper and unfinished art everywhere. He leads you over to a stack on a counter and takes off the top piece. You lean in to see, despite how dangerously close it puts you to the half-naked man you’ve been dreaming about. 

Your eyes bug out at what’s on the paper. He flips through the pages for you, and you find your skin turning warm again as you comprehend what you’re looking at. You’d never really looked at the art he was making of you before, but you know beyond a doubt that this is stuff he’s drawn outside of your sessions. 

They’re drawings of you, tons of them. They all feature you, your face, your body, in languid positions, experiencing some kind of unworldly pleasure. 

“You know, it would have taken an idiot to not see that you really liked the porn. I don’t know why I kept playing it for you. I thought I was so magnanimously pushing you to a realization about what you really wanted,” he talks to you as he flips through the pieces. You can only stare at them, barely hearing him. 

“But it was selfish of me. I just couldn’t help myself. I think about you like this all the time, except I knew never in a million years that you would return that feeling. I felt so dirty. I’m almost twice your age. It was wrong of me to keep spurring you on, like an old pervert.” 

His confession is distant. 

“You’ve been haunting me, Dave Strider. Never did I expect that I would be what you wanted.” 

“B-But,” you stutter your response. “I do. I do want you.” 

“ _I know_ ,” he growls, still not looking at you. “But you shouldn’t. I’m so sorry about all this.” 

You wheeze, feeling a touch of anger in your stomach within the pit of anxiety. “I don’t understand.” 

“Not sure what there is to not understand. I wronged you, and I really don’t think you should keep coming back here.” 

“ _No_ ,” you respond, anger building within. 

“No?” He says incredulously. 

Finally you look up at him. “I have been fucking losing my mind over this. Over you. Over… over… _fuck_. Over wanting guys too. What the fuck is your problem, introducing me to all this and not showing me at all how to deal with it?” 

He gapes back at you. “I… I’m sorry, Dave.” 

“That’s all you have to say?!”

He gasps in frustration. “I’m not going to say I’m not thrilled to be the source of your questioning! Because I am. But I’m much older than you. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I especially didn’t mean to touch you last week, to… to do what I did. I lost control then, and I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep it next time. I shouldn’t have done it.”

“Fuck you! Don’t I get a say in this at all? What if I wanted it!”

Now you’re both staring at each other. 

He’s so close to you, you could probably lean in and breathe in his scent. You glance over his face once, the two of you at a standstill, and decide to go a step further. 

You grab the edges of his robe and pull him down to kiss you. He gasps into your mouth as you violently connect. His breath is hot and faintly tastes of smoky amber. 

He places a hand around your neck, fingers close to echoing his hold on you from last time, when he held your head back as he came all over you. You moan into his mouth and feel him sigh against yours. His fingers tense and relax where they touch you, as if he still can’t make up his mind. You hungrily breathe him in as if you’ll never kiss him again. 

He tears away after what is not long enough. He digs his fingers into your hair, holding you apart from him. “Dave,” he moans, letting his forehead rest against yours. “What do you want from me?” 

“Show me,” you say. “Show me how to be with a guy.” 

He inhales sharply. “Okay, okay,” he says. He sounds resolute, as if he’s finally come to a conclusion. He holds you steady as he places an open-mouthed kiss on your lips once, twice. You think you might explode. Your heart is beating so fast it might leave your body. “Whatever you want.” 

You make a point to run your hands over him, slipping under the robe, finally letting yourself feel him after all this time. Eagerly you push him back, so that he’s forced to half sit on the desk. 

Karkat runs his hands into your hair and pulls back. “Slow down,” he says, forcing you to look at him. 

You exhale, trying to catch your breath. “Sorry, little excited.” 

His hand around your arm squeezes. “Well then. Have you ever sucked a dick before? I assume you haven’t.” 

You feel heat flooding your face. “Uh, no.” 

He smirks. “Do you want to?” 

You’ve fantasized about going down on Karkat more times than you can count. Especially after last time, when you finally saw him lose his stoic expression that is always set in concentration. “Oh, fuck, yes. Let me… let me try.” 

“You’re going to be the end of me, I swear,” he says in that low rumbling voice that drives you crazy. But he slides his hands down to take yours, and places them around the waistband of the silky pants. He’s hard, you can see it clearly, and he moves to take himself out for you but you stop him. 

“I got it,” you say, and reach in to pull him out. He sighs when you finally touch him. 

“On your knees, Dave,” he directs, and as you sink down you feel lightheaded. 

But you more or less think you know what to do at this point, even as you face his thick, tempting cock in your face. You lean forward and finally wrap your lips around the tip. You keep your eyes focused below, unsure of if you could handle his gaze. 

You wet it a bit before taking more into your mouth, until you’re about halfway. Encouragement falls out of his mouth as you work your way down. He’s heavy on your tongue. His fingers run through your hair, not forcing you forward, just as support. Emboldened by the noises he makes you pull away to lick up the back and flick your eyes up to his face. 

He gasps. “Oh, Dave. Now that’s a lovely picture.” You get the sense that he’s mentally capturing the moment for him to reproduce on paper later. 

You take him wholly into your mouth again and slide him in as far as you can take, keeping your eyes on him. His eyes are dark, heavy lidded with desire. 

“Dave, oh Dave, you can take so much, can’t you?” he murmurs as you continue to push him into your mouth. At some point you can’t anymore with your jaw stretched so wide to accommodate him. You’re surprised your gag reflex isn’t reacting, but you never really had one in the first place. 

When you’re as far as you think you’re going to get, you pull up to the tip and go back down as he gasps out, threading his fingers into your hair fully.

“You… You’re doing so good, holy shit, so fucking good,” he encourages. It’s all you need, despite the impending ache in your jaw. You let your spit continue to slick him up, easing the slide into your mouth. Soon you fall into a pattern, your hands bracing on his thighs. 

He has one hand gripping the edge of the desk, the other on your head and placing only the slightest pressure. You can tell he’s trying not to dig in and pull your hair. You hear him moan above you and the realization that you are having this effect on him pushes you to continue. You love this, that you can do this to someone. To him. Yeah, you think you might actually like this sucking dick thing a bit. More than a bit. 

You’re really starting to get into it, loving the feel of how hard he is in your mouth, when he forces you off. 

“Dave, oh fuck, I got close,” he sighs out. 

“Don’t you… didn’t you want to come?” You ask, slightly confused. 

He chuckles lowly. “That depends. Do you want me to fuck you?” 

_Oh._

Yes, you really want him to fuck you. You only have it in yourself to nod up at him as you consider it. You want it so badly it aches. 

He pulls you to your feet. “Y-Yes, please, fuck me,” you say as he closes the distance to kiss you again. 

He pushes you back slightly after so he can put himself back into his pants. “Go to the bathroom and wait for me, I need to grab something.” He directs. 

You nod and stumble out of the room in the direction of the familiar bathroom. 

He’s quick to follow you, so you aren’t left waiting very long. He sets a bottle down on the counter with a box. 

“Is that…?” you start to ask. 

“Lube?” he finishes for you. “Yes. If we’re going to do this we’re going to do it properly. Would you take off your clothes for me? I think at this point I’ve figured out that you enjoy being watched, am I wrong?” 

You can’t help yourself, you grin at him and proceed with peeling your shirt off and tossing it into a corner. You kick off your shoes and peel off your pants, throwing everything to the side until you’re standing nude before him as you’ve gotten used to. 

“Face the mirror and put both hands on it,” he directs. 

Wait, what? 

“What?” You ask, slightly bewildered at the request. He only smirks at you. 

“You’re so keen to be seen by me, I want you to see what I see. What drives me so goddamn crazy.” 

The heat in his words is enough for you to need something to rest on, so you step to that giant floor-length mirror covering a section of the bathroom wall and lean against it on your palms, letting your ass naturally stick out behind you. He comes up and runs a hand down your back.

“Are you sure you want this? It might hurt a bit.” 

“ _Just do it_ ,” you say, eager to feel him inside you. 

“So eager,” he mutters under his breath and steps back to the counter. You can see him behind you in the mirror coating his fingers with lube from the bottle before he returns his hand to you. Then there’s wetness, pressing up against your hole, as he finally slides a finger in. You fist your hands against the mirror and exhale as he pushes in. He lets you adjust. 

He takes you through opening up, agonizingly slow. When he’s finally pushing three fingers in you start to get impatient. “Karkat, just fuck me, I can take it.” 

You can see him with that small smile in the mirror, regarding you almost fondly. “If you say so.” 

He returns to the bathroom sink and washes his hands. You stay in place at the mirror, watching him. He starts to get out of his own clothes and you realize you’ll finally get to see him fully naked. You strain to look over your shoulder to see him. 

Yeah, he’s hot. Thick would probably be a good word to describe his entire being. He’s just so much bigger than you, but all that thought does is turn you on even more. 

You can make out that he’s tearing a condom off, and watch in practical agony as he slides it over his length and comes back over to you. You feel his eyes on you as you watch him behind you in the mirror, watching you with his softly pleased expression. You glance at yourself for a second. Your face is red, you can see the mildly labored breathing of your chest. You are some kind of mess right now, but your attention is mostly focused on Karkat and the anticipation of feeling him enter you. 

You watch him focus down on your ass, feel him lining up and pushing at the hole he just finished working open. 

It’s your turn to groan out now. You knew this was coming. You had him in your mouth, you knew how big he was then, but it’s still so much. He pushes in gently, continuously letting you adjust. 

“Relax,” he murmurs. You breathe in and try for him. 

He slides in further. The pressure, the fullness, it’s so nice. It’s so much more than you could ever do to yourself. It’s so much at once, weird and good and you just feel so full. 

He pushes in more and more, until you realize he’s bottomed out inside you. You can see his head above you in the mirror, focused on your ass. 

“I’m going to fuck you now, Dave,” he says, and gives one experimental thrust into you. Your knees somehow do not buckle. He’s got you held up with a grip at your hips, keeping you steady. He thrusts in again. When he finds that his entry is smooth he starts to speed up. You watch his face fall into concentration as he focuses on fucking you. He starts to speed up and you cuss and hang your head forward, but then it happens. He’s hitting it, whatever that spot is. Your mouth gapes as the pleasure fills you unexpectedly. He keeps hitting it as he continues to speed up, and holy shit it’s so good. You loll your head forward and close your eyes, unable to keep them open under the force of this feeling. 

Karkat takes a grip of your hair and pulls your head back so that you are forced to watch yourself in the mirror again. 

“Watch, Dave. Watch yourself get fucked by a man.” 

You force yourself to watch. You can see him behind you, starting to pound away at you as he hits that spot. It’s so hard to not let your eyes flutter shut with pleasure. 

He can tell that he’s doing this to you. It’s starting to fill you, like an inflating balloon. “Relax, Dave. Just let it happen. It will happen if you relax.” 

You aren’t exactly sure what he’s talking about, but you breathe in and out as best you can as he continues. 

The orgasm you have then is like falling. It’s like falling from a height and being allowed to drop again and again. You moan and let your head fall forward as it shudders through your body. You can’t keep your head up even as you try. He fucks you through it consistently. 

Karkat brings you through two of these orgasms before he directs you to touch yourself. It seems that he is close to losing it himself, but wants to finish you off fully before. Keeping one hand on the mirror, you wrap a hand around yourself and start pumping. Thankfully, he’s still helping to hold you up at the hips, otherwise you would certainly fall forward into the mirror. 

You come. It all feels like too much as he continues to fuck you, until he finally reaches his own release inside you. He starts to slow down, until he stills completely, still seated fully inside you. He leans forward to wrap his arms around you and kisses your shoulder. 

“You did well,” Karkat murmurs. 

“That was fucking amazing,” you say breathlessly, your body heavy with post-orgasmic haze. 

He sighs, gratified. “I’m gonna have to hire a new model,” he murmurs.

You perk up. “Uh, what?”

He laughs and pulls away from you. “Because I’ll never be able to draw you the same way again.” 

“Uh, good?” You say, almost offended. Your knees shake as you take on your entire weight again. He just keeps laughing, but you actually feel a strike of worry in your chest, as if this man is about to discard you after giving you the fuck of your life, and maybe a little more. Is that naive of you? Probably. 

In a moment he sweeps you up to him and places a heated kiss on your mouth. “I think if you were willing to extend your hours a bit, we might be able to reach a compromise.” 

You search his face, confused for a moment. He smiles warmly, still regarding you with that fond expression. “What, are you worried this was a one time thing? Don’t you think I should be the one worried that you’ll fuck off and leave me, just a passing phase?” Karkat says. 

“You’re not,” you say flatly. “Aren’t artists supposed to be the can’t be tied down type. I mean you don’t seem it, I guess.” 

“Mmm. I might be, but you don’t realize I am quite the romantic. And it has been very goddamn hard to keep my hands off you for the last… multiple… sessions.”

“So…. what, do you intend to romance me or something?”

“Well, would you like to be romanced by a man, Dave?” He asks you pointedly. 

You swallow, feeling your cheeks heat up. “I’d like you to fuck me like that again.” 

He throws his head back and laughs. Kissing your face again, he runs his fingers through your hair gently, a shadow of the grip he held before. “That can be arranged.”

“...Buy me dinner first?” You say weakly. 

He chuckles lowly. “Can you manage to stay clothed long enough to wear a suit somewhere?” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Oh, who’s fault is that now?” 

He’s smiling as he gentle releases you. “Guilty. Go get dressed. If you’d like, no work today, just watching Nixon in China.” 

You groan sarcastically. “Good at sex, still a pretentious asshat.”

Karkat raises an eyebrow. “Hm, those two might go hand in hand don’t you think?” 

You choke on your laugh. 

Instead of watching another opera he actually shows you his massive collection of romcoms, and after giving him only a little shit you end up watching Amelie, which is still pretty damn pretentious for a romcom. Halfway through you break for drinks and some food. 

Somehow, you think you might be able to fit into his life, even if far more sophisticated than yours. 

You think he thinks so, too.


End file.
